The Guide to a Healthy, Downtrodden Existence
by Jersey S
Summary: The Doctor finally spills himself, from his past to how he feels the day his love gets married.


**—The Guide to a Healthy, Downtrodden Existence—**

**Upon the upload of my gone-mad Harvest Moon fanfic In My Life, I mentioned it to be the only Harvest Moon fanfic I was going to write.**

**Ha. Those who read it know I can't be trusted.**

**This fanfic is based off of Harvest Moon BTN/FoMT, and focuses on the Doctor. Seeing as though not much is revealed about the Doctor in the games, there are times when something or another is revealed, whether it be the Doctor himself or another person. Picking up the pieces, I inferred everything from the evidence I had, and wrote this. In short, nothing is pulled out of my head.**

**Yes, the Doctor's name is Tim. I guessed on his age though, logically thinking how long it takes to get through med school and all.**

**And now, onto the story!**

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This is the life I live.

As I worked my way to accomplish all the feats I have in my life, I never gave a single thought to everything else around me. I never reached out; instead, I dug myself into a cavern, just me and my work. Summer days of my teenage years were spent taking college courses. Friday nights in the library, company to a stack of reference books. Sunday mornings up with a cup of coffee and a medical textbook. And there went my slack years, gone before I could even have them.

And it went on like that. Now I'm thirty-two, and it's still like that.

Today's a joyous affair, never for me but for my nurse. She's getting married to the love of her life. For the days and weeks before the wedding, she told me again and again how much this meant to her, and I told her that it had to mean a lot.

To say that she loves that boy with everything she could muster up is an understatement. The thing is… I wish I could've been him.

Everything has always passed me by. But when I was younger, I never wanted to turn out like this. Both of my parents were in the medical profession, famous surgeons at that, and I never spent much time with either of them as a boy. I pretty much took care of myself, spending most of my time stewing over the fact that they couldn't just come home for dinner one day, or spend a Sunday afternoon at home.

When I did see them, I was too furious to even speak. Missed birthdays, school events, broken promises of fun times. I ended up just staying home, house to myself as they went about their work.

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I held the phone to my ear, mouthpiece askew as I popped open a can of soup. It was a long time ago… I was fourteen and living with my parents in a brownstone in the city. We were well off, economically. So I dumped the contents of the can into the first bowl I grabbed, phone conversation on hold. Finally the phone clicked, and my mother came back on the line.

"Tim? Are you still there?" my mother asked on the other line.

For a moment I didn't reply, taking my time to stick my dinner in the microwave. I clicked it on, and then turned the phone to speak.

"Yeah Mom."

"Are you making dinner?"

"Yeah," I grunted into the phone, quickly moving to click the microwave buttons.

"Great, dear. Listen, I don't think your father and I are coming home tonight. There's a surgery we have to perform very far—"

"That's okay Mom," I cut in, indifferent as ever. That was always the case with my parents. There was a long, long, tense pause.

My mother finally sighed.

"Listen, Tim," she began. "I know today's your birthday, but we'll make it up to you, okay? We promise it." She was sounding a little frayed as she said this, ending in a sigh.

That was nothing new. It was the same story with my thirteenth birthday, and my twelfth one too.

"Alright Mom," I said.

"Tim, take care of your—"

I hung up. My dinner was ready.

I never did give it another thought. It was a wonderfully clear autumn day, my folks were on the road, and I sat at home with the remote control glued to my hand and my usual indifferent attitude as I flipped through the channels.

And there it was, glaring on the ten o'clock news.

There was that image, glued to the screen and burned in my retinas of the family car, split in a steaming two and smashed into a wide tree. For a moment I stood there, my body and mind numb. I couldn't even yank my eyes away from that image, and when it was pulled off the screen, I still sat there, my eyes not knowing where to go. They didn't get far in their drive, and were plucked from the wreck to be rushed to the nearest hospital.

I dropped the remote, and took off to catch the next bus down to those boondocks.

Between one thing and the other I don't remember much. Just barreling down the hospital doors, screaming with everything I had about my mother and father. The receptionist knew, and with an apathetic eye told me that they were in the ER. I knew what that meant, but I tore down the hallway. A couple of surprised scrubs tried their hardest to bar me, and even though I was weak and scrawny at that age, I shoved them away, finally approaching the door.

A doctor stepped out, cool eyes staring me down as I slowed to a stop.

"You can't come in," he told me flatly.

"My parents are in there!" I pleaded, arms a stretched. "Please, you have to let me see them!!"

"You can't see them."

And right then from behind, the scrubs' strong grips clamped on my arms, and they proceeded to drag me away. I still proceeded to kick and swing out of their grip, but they were too strong for me.

"No!! Let me see them!!" I yelled in open air in between struggling from down the hall. The doctor sighed, turning to head back into the ER as I screamed for my parents at the top of my lungs.

…

Why is it that I never really had them around, but I still lost them?

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After the death of my parents, I realized that I didn't want to stand around doing nothing. There were precious lives to be saved, and there was something _I _could've done about it. I found any way to work at my goal, piling on more classes in my high school curriculum in order to graduate in three years instead of four. I was working my way through high school, studying, busting myself, letting my social life go to waste.

I never had a social life. I never even had friends. At that time, it didn't even matter much to me. All I wanted was what I received, and I broke my way into the medical field. In my home city, I started off as a scrub. The staff knew me right off and took to me well. I wound up with more experience than the other scrubs, doing more and seeing more than they have. The thing was, I was the youngest one on the staff.

I really didn't do anything, except watch more people die. Before too long, I wanted out of the city hospital. There still was nothing going on in my life. I still was so absorbed in working and making bettering myself and learning more, and after all of it I was the same. I was still a damn downtrodden man who let life pass him by. I had nothing to truly enjoy, and there I was, watching people suffer and die nine to five in the morning.

It was getting to be too much for me to handle. I trudged through it though, never letting myself slip and break down with every life lost in the midst of chemotherapy and untimely accidents.

But I'm grateful for the chance I took on a whim after that.

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**Wow, that was NOT easy to write at all. Anyway, I plan on about another chapter or two, not too sure yet. So… what to do now? **

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**Reviews would be very nice. Thanks for reading! **


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